The Were Witch Complete Series Omnibus

by Renée Jaggér

So they hopped in the mechanic’s truck and drove to the Bristling Elk, the town’s combined country-western bar and diner. Neither had been there in a long time, and the kitchen was open until ten-thirty on weekdays.

  As they stepped through the front doors, they almost bumped into Tomi, the full-time evening waitress. She was a blonde of about thirty-three who’d been consistently flirting with Bailey’s brothers since they were in their mid-teens.

  “Bailey!” she exclaimed. “I ain’t seen you around in a while. And Gunney, hi. You getting something to eat or just a drink?”

  The older man smiled. “Late supper. I forgot to eat earlier, and we got to talking and working on cars. That’ll chew up anyone’s time if they’re not careful.”

  No one else was eating at this hour. Probably just as well, Bailey thought, since the two of us smell like a couple of vagrants who went to sleep in a horse trough filled with old motor oil. Not like Gunney cares what anyone thinks of him. They all know he’s a damn mechanic.

  Tomi was along to take their orders a minute or two after they’d sat down. They each requested a beer and a steak sandwich cooked medium for the mechanic, medium-rare for Bailey.

  As the waitress headed toward the kitchen, Bailey let out a sigh. “You know, Roland tells me you shouldn’t eat meat more than once a day. It can lead to colon cancer down the road, supposedly.”

  Gunney laughed. “That could be. You’re a little young to be worried about that, though. Maybe in another ten or fifteen years. I’m the one who oughta be watching my diet. You eat what you want for now.”

  He leaned back, and his face took on a philosophical cast. “Besides,” he added, “I never heard of a wolf being a vegetarian.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Fine work,” she told her followers. “Again, only one minor casualty on our side.” The witch who’d been hurt had been on a mission of this sort before and was old enough to know better.

  The Venatori had moved southeast. MacLachlan had augured the concentrated presence of lycanthropes somewhere in the wooded hills north of Lake Merwin and not too far southwest of the famous Mt. St. Helens. The pack hadn’t taken long to find.

  They had been dispersed throughout the area, but half belonged to the large family who owned the farm. Most of the rest had convened here for a full moon celebration. MacLachlan had to admit that was a stroke of luck, even if the rest of their victory was purely due to skill, talent, and the generally higher level of intelligence of witches as compared to Weres. The second training mission had gone well. Her team was shaping up nicely.

  The whole pack was dead. As Madame convened her assistants to depart, though, she sensed the presence of other magic moving closer. A moment later, three figures, almost certainly female, appeared out of the forest and crossed the dirt road on foot.

  MacLachlan made two swift gestures, indicating that her subordinates should gather behind her but should hold off on attacking.

  The women stopped just past the edge of the farm’s property. Front and center and presumably speaking for them was a short lady of about forty, probably of mixed heritage, with curly dark hair.

  “Peace, sisters,” she said. “We know who you are. Our coven is based in this area. Did those stupid lycans attack you?”

  MacLachlan sensed that the local witches were excited to see them and more curious than anything. Still, she considered for a few seconds before she answered.

  “Yes,” she stated. “The werewolves of the Pacific Northwest killed some of our Order and turned the rest over to the authorities. We’ve come to teach them a lesson and neutralize the threat.”

  The trio did not exchange glances, but something flowed between them—a subtle shared thought, part of a coven-mind.

  The leader smiled. “My name is Janith Ritter. These are my friends and coven sisters, Tamara and Melissa. We would like to offer you our aid and cooperation.”

  Madame MacLachlan returned the woman’s pleasant expression. “Good. You can start by telling us everything you know about Bailey Nordin. You have heard of her, haven’t you?”

  Another barely perceptible ripple streaked through the air between the three.

  “We have,” Janith admitted. “She’s not local to our area, but not too far either. She lives somewhere in the mountains beyond Portland if I’m not mistaken. The world of the supernatural has been afire with rumors about her and the meaning of everything she’s been getting up to.”

  The witch to the left, Tamara, chimed in, “She’s been through southern Washington a couple times. She and her boyfriend, a wizard named Roland from Seattle who we’d heard of long before anyone mentioned her.”

  Melissa, the third witch, added her own commentary. “They caused enough trouble in Portland and Seattle that some of it made its way onto the evening news, in addition to all the gossip coming over the grapevine in our circles. And of course, the Weres are all riled up over this nonsense about her being a shaman.”

  Janith cast a brief glance at the burning barn. “They were even more obnoxious than usual.”

  Behind her, MacLachlan could feel her women growing restless, impatient to move on with the mission. She allowed irritation to creep into her voice when she responded to the local coven.

  “We know most if not all of that. Still, we appreciate your offer of aid. Are you really willing to help us, though? If so, then join us as apprentices. That means I’m giving you the chance to enlist in the Venatori Order. The mission is simple—kill werewolves. Lots of them. Show them they can’t treat our sisters as they did.”

  Tamara, who appeared to be the youngest of the three, giggled. Then all three nodded, and Janith said, “We accept.”

  “Glad to have you,” MacLachlan replied. “Make ready to leave right away. I’ve got a spell over this farm cloaking the flames from sight and muffling the noise we’ve made, but it’ll not last much more than an hour without me here to maintain it. We need to be on our way before the human authorities arrive.”

  Melissa looked a tad dismayed at that but quickly resigned herself, her opinion having been overpowered by the coven-mind. She must have assumed they’d have a day or two to prepare.

  As the group of sorceresses departed the ravaged property, MacLachlan reflected on her good luck in running into the three.

  Her girls needed more experience in combat, but she didn’t want to put their lives at too much risk. The more troops she retained, the easier her task would be. Having a few locals on hand to act as cannon fodder would make things better.

  It was in line with the Order’s overall philosophy, as well. Their ultimate mission was the preservation, advancement, and supremacy of witchkind. The Venatori were the cream of the crop, and as such, individuals from outside the Order could be sacrificed if need be in order to protect them, those more suited to the broader goal.

  In just under three and a half hours, the Venatori task force with its three new guides and allies in tow had crossed the state line, passed through Portland, and arrived at the edge of a tiny village just off the highway leading to Mt. Hood.

  They probably could have gone all the way to Greenhearth, but there were at least two more packs that MacLachlan wanted to deal with. Those were the one here, near the mountain, and another that would require a slight detour east of the Cascades. They’d still have plenty of time for Bailey. In fact, the delay might draw even more lycanthropes to the girl’s side.

  That way, MacLachlan could kill all of them at once.

  The sorceresses piled out of their vehicles and stood before the little settlement, which slept under the still-full moon. Janith, Tamara, and Melissa were out in front.

  “Right,” Madame began. “This is a test. Surely you expected that, right? See how far you can get toward wiping them out before you need our help. We’ll step in when the time is right.”

  The trio swallowed the lumps in their throats. Just as MacLachlan had suspected, they weren’t very powerful.

  Sighing, she taught them a few extra tr
icks before she turned them loose.

  * * *

  Nick stared, his face slowly going slack with a dismay that far exceeded anything he’d felt before.

  “I can’t believe this,” he hissed. “I cannot fucking believe it. How could she have done something like this? This is the kind of shit the Nazis did. Why would she herd a bunch of her own people into a barn and burn it? Gods!”

  They stood on the wet grass of the farm in southern Washington, gazing at the still-smoldering pile of ruins that contained the charred skeletons of the pack. Sirens were approaching, so they’d have to leave soon.

  Marcus put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder to comfort him. “I’m at a loss too. Things are far worse than I had suspected. Granted, we can’t be positive about who’s responsible for this, but there aren’t many other convincing options.”

  “No,” Nick protested. “It has to be her. No matter what crap comes out of her mouth, it all fits. She is trying to take over the Were community in this part of the country and killing anyone who opposes her. She’s sending a message that she’s going to take the role of High Shaman by force, and she has the power to make the rest of us accept it.”

  He swallowed and trembled with a mixture of nausea and fury.

  Marcus scrunched his face, eyes distant as though he were contemplating something. “We might be able to stop her by turning everyone against her, but that would require catching her in the act and taking a phone video or some such. But that would mean allowing her to strike again.”

  The apprentice shaman snorted. “Fuck that. She’s not going to get the chance. We ought to stop her by stopping her. I don’t care what the Whitcombs say, she’s out of control. I’ll take my own goddamn pack this time and do the job right. We’ll hunt her down in her own hometown.”

  Inwardly, Fenris smiled. Things were working out just as he’d hoped.

  Outwardly, Marcus offered a grave nod. “I’m afraid that might be the best thing to do at this point. Something must be done, and soon. Make sure you take enough men. If we’re lucky, further violence can be avoided. She might stand down if you catch her unawares and with superior numbers.”

  Nick slipped his shoulder out from under the older man’s hand and the two began walking toward the woods, aiming to disappear into the shadows now that the authorities were almost here.

  “Yeah,” the young man murmured, “I intend to. She’s not taking me out the way she took those poor bastards out. She’s not cutting anyone else off one by one. She’s going to face up to this shit.”

  “If you need help,” Marcus added, “I’ll be watching. I will back you up. It’s sad that it’s come to this, but we need to do what must be done.”

  The apprentice cast a final glance at the immolated corpses in the ruins of the barn.

  “No shit.”

  * * *

  Something about having a late supper at the Elk with Gunney last night had made Bailey almost feel like things were back to normal. As if it were old times again, when her biggest concerns were fending off dickheads like Dan Oberlin once in a while and cleaning the mud out of the undercarriage of her truck.

  She approached Roland after they were both awake. “Wanna go out for breakfast?”

  “Sure,” he agreed. “I think I’m putting on a few pounds, though. You people certainly know how to eat hearty. I might have to start politely refusing second helpings from now on.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean, ‘you people?’”

  He smiled and smoothed his hair. “The Nordin family, a group of people—Weres, whatever—who are noticeably large and therefore require greater caloric intake than the norm. Large as in tall and strong, of course.”

  “Damn right,” she shot back. She put her head into his stomach and lifted him onto her shoulders, where he sputtered and cursed for a moment before she tossed him onto the sofa.

  He blinked, then smoothed his hair again. “Well, it’s good to know that you can carry me if I’m ever knocked out. Then again, I weigh a lot less than a fridge.”

  It was about ten-thirty when they arrived at the diner. They’d be transitioning into lunch soon, but breakfast was popular enough that they usually had the supplies reserved and a section of the grill reserved for eggs until quarter past eleven or so.

  The waitress on hand was the newer gal, Cheryl. Tomi usually worked lunch and dinner. She seated them at a small table near the center of the floor. Bailey thought about requesting a booth, but it was pretty busy, so she didn’t bother.

  Soon their orders were in, and with surprising speed given the number of diners on hand, they had beautiful, butter-glistening omelets sitting in front of them in addition to their steaming cups of coffee.

  They had tucked about halfway into their meals when four young men approached them, all Weres. Bailey knew most of them.

  The one out front made eye contact. “Hey,” he offered in a low voice. “Nova. We want to talk to you.”

  Bailey set down her fork. “I don’t get called that very much. Last time, I think it was by Dan Oberlin right before I kicked the shit out of him. Aren’t you guys his friends?” Her tone was flat and even, neither rude nor polite.

  Roland, for his part, sipped coffee but watched the quartet all the same.

  “Yeah,” the leader responded. “Well, we were.” He was rangy and strong, if not overly heavy. Two of the other guys were taller and wider, and the fourth was short and stout. “I’m Will Waldsbach. Me and him were friends in high school, but I didn’t talk to him much after that. I didn’t know what he was doing.”

  One of the big guys stepped up. “I’m Dan’s cousin, Leo Seigneur. I didn’t know either. Not ‘til after him and his boys were arrested.”

  Bailey tried not to make it too obvious that they’d bewildered her. Roland too had furrowed his brow and seemed to be searching the folds of his brain for an answer.

  “I see,” she said. “So, what do you want to talk about?”

  The Weres exchanged glances. “We wanted to apologize,” Will rumbled, “for all the crap Dan’s gang did. We didn’t have no part in it. Especially not the kidnappings, and we never harassed you either, did we? We heard about everything you’ve done, though. And about,” he swallowed, “who’s teaching you now. How you’re gonna be the shaman.”

  Bailey couldn’t pretend to be nonchalant any longer. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened.

  “So,” Will went on, “what I’m trying to say is, I want us to be on good terms. Everyone knows you’re a hell of a fighter. And aside from some of the bullshit rumors, everyone knows you’re trying to do well by all the packs in the valley. Saving our girls, kicking the asses of the guys who took them, and driving off those witches. If…Fenris wants you to be our shaman, then we don’t got a problem with that. You’re someone we could follow. We got your back.”

  The other three nodded their agreement.

  Bailey took a deep breath and raised her coffee mug for a quick sip to give herself a second to think. “Thanks,” she said after a pause. “I guess I wasn’t expecting that, but it’s good to hear. Too many Weres lately have been acting crazy. You guys eating? Pull up a table if you want.”

  Roland gave them a curt smile and flourished his hand for them to do as Bailey had suggested. He wasn’t as enthusiastic as the girl was since he didn’t know the four, just as he still didn’t understand lycanthrope society. But it was obvious they had nothing to fear from Will or his friends.

  The quartet had just dragged up a table when the front doors around a corner from the dining area burst open and in tramped a group of people. A large group, from the sound of it. Moving fast and stomping hard.

  Roland craned his neck. “The hell is that?” Subtle twists of his fingers suggested he was preparing a spell—something subtle and tactical, nothing like the flashy destructive magic he’d used in the Other.

  Bailey frowned. “We’re about to find out.”

  A crowd of young men, along with a couple of wome
n, marched around the corner and into the dining area. There were at least twenty of them, maybe twenty-five. Most were large, muscular, rough-looking sorts. Bailey figured most of them for werewolves, although a few could be human allies. She’d never seen any of them before.

  They muscled their way in, streaming between the booths and tables, making other diners scooch their chairs in to avoid them. Then they spread out to form a squared-off U-shape around the double table where Bailey, Roland, and their four new friends sat.

  The werewitch watched them. She said and did nothing, only waited for them to introduce themselves.

  Out in front was their presumed leader. It was difficult to judge his age; he might have been twenty-five or forty. He was of average height, but fit and muscular, with a shaved head, a well-groomed black chin beard, and tattoos on his bare arms, which he'd crossed over his chest. His eyes were cold and steady.

  “You’re Bailey Nordin,” he stated.

  Bailey slightly inclined her head. “Yep, that’s me. Who are you, and what brings you to Greenhearth? Don’t think I’ve—”

  “Cut the crap,” he interrupted her. “We know what you’ve been doing lately. So does the entire rest of wolfdom all through Oregon and Washington. To answer your question, my name is Nick Jezak, apprentice shaman of the Shashka Pack—one of the ones you haven’t wiped out yet.”

  A visible tremor of deadly rage went through the whole gang as if they were a single animal prepared to pounce.

  The entire diner had gone dead silent. No noise interfered with Bailey’s thoughts or the rush of intertwining emotions.

  That’s him, she concluded. This is the fucker who’s been inciting those other packs against me. But what the hell does he mean by wiped out? Is someone out there killing Weres?

  There was no time to try to come up with answers to her mental questions, though. Nick was continuing his spiel.

  “This woman,” he announced, his voice filling the whole building as he pointed at her face, “is a threat to every lycanthrope—man, woman, and child—in the region, and she’ll be a threat to the whole goddamn world unless she’s stopped. She’s not fit to be a shaman. We have confirmed evidence that her power, probably combined with jealousy and resentment, has driven her crazy. The result is two entire packs in Washington dead. I’m talking mass murder, genocide. Check the Internet or listen to the radio if you don’t believe me.”